


Dis-Integration

by idc_chan



Category: La Femme Nikita, Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Coercion, Dark, Dark fic, Humiliation, M/M, Sexual Coercion, Slavery, Spy Stuff, This Gets Really Dark, Violence, Watersports, enjoy, i crossover everything with la femme nikita, if you want to join me, its fun, no happy ending, no redeeming value whatsover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-01-31 16:22:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21449155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idc_chan/pseuds/idc_chan
Summary: The La Femme Nikita/Yuri on Ice crossover no one asked for.Katsuki Yuri knows next to nothing about Victor's family. Turns out there's good reasons for that.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Other(s), Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Victor Nikiforov/Other(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Hey heads up in case anyone missed the warnings and/or tags, this one is super dark. Read safely, okay?

Part One

“I’m sorry,” Nikita says in broken Russian as she kneels to gather the papers and books that have fallen onto the steps outside of the rink.

“Are you okay?” her target asks, all wide brown eyes and concern. 

“Ah yes,” she says, “I’m very late,” she says the words slowly, as though trying to remember them. “Do you happen to speak English?” she mutters.

The target’s eyes brighten, and he smiles. “Yes,” he says. “Are you okay?” he asks again. 

“Yes,” she answers, he hands her a small stack of papers. “I’m just late for a meeting with a,” she looks at the papers, “Mr. Feltsman.” 

“You’re meeting with Coach Yakov?” 

“Yes! Yakov Feltsman, can you show me his office?” 

“Ah, of course,” Yuri says. He pushes back his glasses. “Why are you meeting with him?” 

“I really can’t say,” Nikita says, “sorry.” She grins at him and he smiles back. Appearance wise he’s quite plain- but when he smiles like that- it’s like he’s lighting up from the inside out.

“Oh! I forgot something,” Nikita says, glancing at the stack of material in her arms. She turns and starts to take the stairs two at a time. 

“I’ll go with you,” the target says, “so you don’t get lost and end up even more late- Coach Yakov can be scary when he’s angry.” 

Nikita allows herself a moment to feel remorse. This boy deserves none of this- he’s an innocent. Maybe the boy’s fiancée isn’t- that remains to be seen- but this boy- Nikita doesn’t have time to think about it much longer. Michael is beside the target, sedating him with a hidden needle- and they catch him together as he slumps. He’s much heavier than she anticipated. 

Yuri Katsuki’s eyes flutter open after about half an hour. They widen in fear as he notices Michael, her, the fact that he is bound. She’s not sure how much he’s able to take in before she begins to speak. 

“You are you Yuri Katsuki?” she asks. 

“Is it safer not to be?” he asks. The sarcastic tone in his voice surprises her. He’d seemed so demure and pleasant during her observations over the last few days. 

“Probably,” she admits. “Unfortunately, I don’t actually need you to confirm your identity.” She rifles through his wallet; his id is confirmation enough. 

“Pity,” he says, shaking his head as though trying to clear it. Nikita winces. The drugs he’s been given aren’t pleasant at all. She can remember violent nausea and debilitating headaches from her own experience with this cocktail. 

“Nikita.” Michael says so much while so saying so little. She whirls around to face him for a moment, gazes into his eyes, looks for the person she knows is in there somewhere. 

“He doesn’t deserve this,” she says quietly, and he simply stares back impassively until the silence becomes unbearable. 

“I don’t,” Yuri says, breaking it. If Nikita were less well trained she might not notice his trembling or how quickly he was breathing. How his pupils are dilated as she meets his eyes. 

“You could just let me go,” he says. “I won’t go to the police.” 

Nikita snorts. The police. Right. “We need you,” she says. “We need information about the Nikiforov Group.” 

Katsuki tenses when she uses the name. His skin goes pale and he stops breathing for a moment before gulping air like someone who’s almost drowned. 

“We know who you are,” Nikita says. “Do you truly know your fiancée?” 

Yuri calms himself, a feat she can’t help but admire and stares at her with hard, brown eyes. 

“Yes. And you will leave him alone,” he says. 

“You’re in no position to make threats,” Nikita counters, tracing a finger along his cheek. Her stomach squirms when he flinches at her touch. Michael continues to stand, silently, in the background of their interaction. His presence is a reminder that she will do this, whether she wants to or not. And so, will Yuri Katsuki, she thinks, not without regret. 

Kastuki struggles against his bonds for a moment. “Do what you want to me,” he says, “I won’t hurt him.” 

Nikita sighs. This reaction is expected, but she hates these situations. Her skin feels as though it’s covered in slime as she leans into Yuri, brushes his hair out of his eyes. “Of course, you won’t,” she purrs. “But, Yuri, do you know where your sister is? Your mother? You father?” 

He can’t hide his fear as she explains what might happen to them without his cooperation. He lets out a low moan as she calls her agent in Japan and they can hear a female voice in the background, one Yuri clearly recognizes. Tears form in his eyes as she ends the call. 

His shoulders slump and he blinks, tears sticking to his eyelashes. “What do you want from me?” he asks. Nikita is gratified to hear the anger and fire in his voice. He might survive this, she thinks. It does nothing to assuage her guilt. 

***

Yuri sits in the apartment- his and Victor’s apartment and takes slow, deep breaths. He’s on the couch with his hands on his knees. His morning was surreal. A horrible mistake has been made and he’s a part of it. This doesn’t happen in real life, he thinks, trying to control his breath, his trembling, his fear. 

Except he can see the places where their apartment has been bugged. They are being monitored, by audio and video by people who threaten someone’s family. Anger burns in him at the thought, simmering into helplessness. There is little he can do except what these people want. He isn’t sure he can do what these people want. 

“We just need information,” the white, blonde woman had said. “What do you know about Nikiforov’s family?”

“Nothing,” he’d admitted. It stings, realizing how little he knows about Victor’s family. On the other hand, maybe this is why. Maybe it’s always been dangerous to know. 

“Learn,” Nikita had told him. “Learn everything you can. We’ll tell you when we have enough.” 

Yuri sits, staring at the wall, unsure what to do. Makkachin is restless beside him, the dog can tell he’s distressed. He pets the poodle, taking comfort in Makkachin’s soft fur. He feels tears pool in his eyes. He lets them fall, maybe, he thinks, if he lets himself cry this will get easier and he’ll know what to do. 

***

They share dinner when Victor returns. Victor gives Yuri a disappointed frown.

“Yuuuri,” Victor says, “you have to tell me if you are going to miss practice. Even if it’s for,” Victor waves his hands. “You know.” 

Yuri blinks. “For anxiety?” Yuri says, the excuse he’d used for not making it to the rink. It’s not precisely untrue. 

“Yes,” Victor nods, “that. Especially that.” 

“Vitya,” Yuri says (and Victor glows anytime Yuri says his name, it’s not even that new at this point) “I love you. But you can’t even say the word “anxiety.”” 

“Yes,” Victor says around mouthfuls of chicken breast and vegetables. “That’s true. I don’t always know how to help you. But I want to.” 

Yuri’s gut clenches. This lie is terrible. He hates it. He can’t explain what truly happened. He glimpses one of the hidden cameras from the corner of his eye, he can only see it because he was there when it was installed. 

“I’m sorry,” Yuri says. He means it so much more than Victor realizes. 

“Yuri, please tell me how I can help you.” 

“I could use a distraction,” Yuri says. 

Victor’s eyes gleam. “That I’m always up for,” he grins at his innuendo and Yuri can’t help but smile back. 

After Victor has touched him tenderly, kissed him thoroughly and fucked him softly, when they are laying in bed, holding each other close, then is when Yuri asks. His mouth feels like ashes are spilling from it when he says, 

“Tell me about your family, Vitya.” 

Victor stiffens in his arms. “Why do you want to know?” 

Yuri smooths Victor’s hair, snuggles closer. He feels sick, he can’t show it. This needs to be a soft, tender moment between lovers. “I’d like to know everything about you,” Yuri whispers. It’s the truth- it’s absolutely the truth and it helps and hurts. 

“You’re all the family I need,” Victor says and Yuri melts into him. 

‘I love you too,’ Yuri wants to say. He wants to cry and embrace his husband to-be and have the soft, intimate moment he’s pretending to have.

“Still,” he says instead, “I’d like to know.” 

Victor sighs. “Can we have this conversation another time, my star?” 

“Of course,” Yuri says. He buries his anger, his frustration, the slimy feeling in the pit of his stomach as deeply as he can manage. He presses a kiss to Victor’s forehead. “Whenever you’re ready.” 

***

Nikita isn’t prepared for Yuri’s acerbic: “I know what I’m doing,” when she confronts him the next day. 

“He didn’t tell you anything,” she says. Her timetable is tight. She needs information yesterday. 

“You’ll get what you want,” Yuri says, brushing past her. “And then you’ll get out of my life.” 

“It’s not that simple,” she whispers after him. With Section One it never is. 

***

Victor’s head is cradled in Yuri’s lap. Yuri plays absently with his hair as Victor reads and he ignores what’s on tv in favor of playing the last two days over and over in his head. Yuri feels like he’s in some terrible movie. People aren’t blackmailed like this in real life. If hadn’t run into the white woman at the rink, he’d have thought he was losing his grasp on reality. 

If he didn’t occasionally notice a hidden camera or microphone he might be able to pass everything off as some anxiety induced nightmare. His gut churns when Victor speaks, voice soft. 

“I was never close with my family, not like you are,” he starts. He launches into a story- a family that never knew what to do with their son who loved skating. A family that hasn’t spent even a holiday together in over fifteen years. A family that, Victor admits, may be involved in illegal activities. 

“I never knew for certain,” Victor says, “but my father always had money and I never knew how, exactly. Even back when people didn’t have money. I barely remember the man, I was so young when I last saw him.” 

“How old?” Yuri asks. 

“8? 9? I haven’t seen him since. My mother left not so many years after that.” 

Yuri holds his Vitya, feels a swell of relief. He wants to stare into a camera, speak into a microphone. “He doesn’t know anything,” he wants to say. He doesn’t, he can’t. He does kiss Victor softly and take him to bed, thinking his ordeal is over. 

***

“We need a meeting with Victor Nikiforov’s father,” Nikita says. 

Yuri is sitting before her, bound again. He glares at her. “Is all of your spy stuff worthless?” he asks. “Victor doesn’t know anything.” 

“Yes,” Nikita says. “That much is clear.” 

“So, you may as well leave us alone.” 

Nikita runs her hands through her hair, re-ties her ponytail. “He’s our best chance at a meeting with Dimitri Nikiforov.” 

“No.” Yuri says. “I’m done. I’ve done as you asked. Find a different chance.” 

“I don’t want do to this,” Nikita says. She presses a few buttons on her phone. 

“So, don’t,” Yuri says. He sounds desperate and tired. 

“I’m sorry,” Nikita murmurs. She is, too. But like Yuri, she doesn’t have a choice. 

Yuri’s phone rings and she fishes it from his pocket. She presses the accept call button and hears a woman speaking in frantic Japanese. She catches a few words here and there, but not enough to know exactly what is being said. She doesn’t need to understand- she knows Yuri’s sister has been in a near-fatal accident. 

Yuri answers the call. His voice is strained, his eyes meet hers, frightened and angry as the call winds down. She waits until he nods to press the “end call” button and looks directly at him. 

“The next accident will be fatal,” she says. “Get me that meeting.” 

He stares at her, the silence swells between them. “How?” he asks. 

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out. Didn’t you say you know what you’re doing?” He flinches as the words sting and she feels a little guilty at the pleasure she takes in it. He’s an innocent, she reminds herself. He and his boyfriend both are. 

***

Yuri tries to skate, he flubs every jump. Victor watches from the side, face in a perpetual frown. Yuri rushes through the complicated step-sequence Victor choreographed for his new program and misses several elements. He falls out of his camel spin. He tries to skate a few figures, anything to calm himself. 

His heart races despite all his efforts and he finds himself grasping at the boards, trying not to fall over, simply skating. He’s shaking and sweating, and Victor meets him where is. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. 

Yuri can’t say “nothing”. He’s so clearly bothered by something. “I’m in my own head too much,” Yuri says. It’s a truth, albeit a truncated one. “I’m- I can’t stop thinking about your family. How I’d like to meet them.” He pauses at the hurt look on Victor’s face. He doesn’t want to do this. “I’m sorry,” Yuri says. “I just- I can’t help but think you want to see them again, too.” 

Victor’s face crumples for a just moment. “Oh sweetheart,” he says, pulling Yuri into a hug. “You worry too much. You take on too much.” 

“Not helping,” Yuri lies as he sinks into Victor’s hug. 

***

“Oh Yuri,” Victor says, later that evening after Yuri has come home from an evening run. Yuri is winded, his legs ache and his eyes are sore from crying. He’s sure they are red and puffy. 

“Why did I hear about Mari’s accident from your Mom? Why did you even try and practice today?” Victor looks hurt. 

Yuri wants to collapse into Victor’s arms, tell him everything. He wants nothing more than to blurt out the entire sordid story. He knows there’s a camera in the television, remembers the technician who’d installed it. He hears the terror in his mother’s voice from the phone call earlier, remembers how he’d frozen with his own fear. 

“I’d already missed once this week,” Yuri says. 

“My love,” Victor says. “You have to take care of yourself. As your coach I need to know this sort of thing.” 

“I don’t need my coach right now,” Yuri says, an argument he’s used before. 

“Mmm.” Victor takes him in, “Maybe I think that you do. And I order a hot bath, followed by a nutritious dinner and rest.” Victor’s tone is light. Yuri can hear desperation, hurt in the words. This little hurt- it tears at Yuri’s heart. How can be expected to hurt this man more? 

“The next accident will be fatal”- Nikita’s voice rings in his ears. 

Yuri nods numbly and lets Victor draw him a bath. 

***

Yuri thinks about the cameras and microphones in their room while they make love. He feels violated and like he’s violating Victor at the same time. He cries when Victor brings him to orgasm and continues to cry when Victor holds him, whispering soft Russian words as he’s racked with sobs. 

“My Yuri is so sweet,” Victor says. “You’ve been worried about your own family, and it makes you ask about mine.” 

“No,” Yuri says. “No, let’s not,” his breath hitches. “Not right now, Vitya.” 

“Okay, my love,” Victor says. “Just let me be here for you.” 

Yuri clings to him through the night.

***

Yuri sees Nikita at the rink again. He ignores her attempts to speak to him, drags Victor along. 

“Do you know her?” Victor asks. 

“Sort of,” Yuri says. He grips Victor’s shoulder tightly. He tips Victor’s head for a kiss, whispers. “We have to get away from the rink today. There’s something I need to tell you,” he whispers. 

“We’ve missed a lot of practice this week already,” Victor says. 

“None of that matters,” Yuri says. “We have to leave here. Right now. We can’t go home.” 

“What is this all about?” Victor peers at him. “Yuri what’s going on with you?” 

“I want to tell you,” Yuri says, “Just not here.” 

Yuri’s phone rings- he answers it, heart sinking. His mother explains that Mari is getting worse- they are airlifting her to a hospital in Tokyo. He sees Nikita from the corner of his eye, she’s holding her own phone. 

“Stay in line, Katsuki,” appears on his screen from an unknown number in Japanese. 

“What. What is it?” Victor asks. 

“It’s Mari,” Yuri says. “She’s worse.” 

Victor looks thoughtful. He walks over to Yakov, who looks grumpy and yells at Victor for a moment before turning back to yell at Milla who has paused for a moment on the rink. 

“We’ll both be taking today off,” Victor says. “Come on, we’re going to Japan.” 

Yuri stands for a moment, stunned. “Just like that?” 

“We’ll buy tickets on our way to the airport,” Victor says. “I’ll have Mishka send our things. Your family is my family, Yuri. We can work something out with skating. Let’s go see to Mari, yes?” 

“Yes,” Yuri breathes, hugging Victor tightly. “Thank you.” 

***

The team intercepts them at the airport. Nikita winces as Yuri comes to the realization that there was going to be no easy escape to Japan. They pull Nikiforov and Katsuki away with minimal fuss, posing as Russian police, acting as though they have official business. 

“No,” Yuri says, frantic. “Vitya, we can’t go with them.” 

Victor stares at his fiancée, looks as though he might cause a scene just because Yuri looks so frightened. 

She catches Nikiforov’s eye, sidles closer to Yuri, flashes the one of the knives in her coat. “Quietly,” she says, “and I won’t hurt him.” 

“Vitya, no,” Yuri says, desperately as she grasps his shoulder. 

“Careful,” Nikita whispers. “I believe your sister’s plane is still in the air.” Beside her Yuri stills. She can feel his hatred aimed at her as they walk out of the airport, away from what he thought was his chance at freedom. 

***

Yuri is bound as they explain things to Victor. Victor becomes more and more cold as it goes on. He glances at Yuri for just a moment before looking back to the spies that have abducted them. 

“Why put him through that,” Victor asks. “Why not this ploy from the beginning?” They’ve laid it out- Victor cooperates, contacts his father or they hurt Yuri. 

“We couldn’t be sure you weren’t already working with your family,” Nikita says. “Now we are.” 

“It’s a pity then,” Victor says, “that I can’t do as you ask.” 

Yuri’s heart jumps. 

Nikita looks pained as she answers, “That is a pity. I don’t want to hurt him.” 

She nods, a few of her men come in. One starts by punching Yuri in the gut, a blow that knocks the breath out of him and blurs the room in front of his eyes. Another man backhands his face, he feels blood in his nose from the force of the blow. Yuri screams in pain as one of the men lands a kick on his knee. 

“Stop,” Victor says. “Stop. I don’t know anything. I literally can’t do as you ask.” 

Yuri’s head rings as another blow lands on his person. 

“For his sake,” Nikita says, “I hope you can think of something.” 

***

Nikita tends to Yuri’s injuries. They’re all superficial, designed to hurt and scare them, but not to cause any permanent damage. She wipes the blood from his nose and applies a salve to his bruises. She binds the wrist that might be sprained and checks that his knee is only tender, nothing broken. He looks so peaceful passed out in her arms. She strokes his hair before retying the ropes that bind him and laying him gently on the couch. 

“Why,” he asks, eyes fluttering open. 

“Dimitri Nikiforov is a bad man, who must be stopped at all costs,” the lie rolls from her lips easily. It rings of truth even in her own ears. She lets the lie sit between them for a few beats. “And because I also don’t have a choice,” she says quietly, leaving him to rest alone. 

***

Victor looks haggard when he returns. There are bags under his eyes. Yuri doesn’t know how much time has passed- Nikita has fed him water and food several times, helped use the bathroom and tended to his injuries. His body aches and she’d simply stared at him balefully when he’d suggested she could just untie him and he could take care of himself. 

“I’ve done as you asked,” Victor says. “Please let him go.” 

“When and where do we meet your father?” 

“Let him go,” Victor says. His voice is cold and impassive. 

“After the meeting,” Nikita says. She gestures for her men to surround and bind Victor as well. “Everyone but him assumes you are in Japan by now, you may as well stay here.” 

***

“I’m sorry,” Yuri whispers. Victor has been placed on the couch beside him. He’s been sitting, staring silently at the wall as Nikita and her goons burst into a flurry of activity. 

“I have to admit, for “get out of practice” excuses. This one is very elaborate. I mean, you are my first student, but I doubt anyone will ever top this.” 

“Vitya,” Yuri says, a laugh and a sob both stuck in his throat. 

“Perhaps, considering the circumstances, Victor, is more appropriate,” Victor says off-handedly, and the insinuation hurts more than any of the physical blows he’s suffered. 

Yuri chokes back the sob, tears run down his face as they wait, in silence. Victor doesn’t even look at him. 

***

Dimitri Nikiforov embraces his son. Victor is stiff as he returns the embrace. Nikita watches the reunion, waits until they’ve pulled apart. She gives a signal and watches the two men stare at each other. 

“My son!” Dimitri says. Dimitri is blonde, blue-eyed, handsome like his son. He’s broader, more muscular, less lithe and graceful, but pleasing to look at. “It’s been so many years.” 

“Decades,” Victor says, coldly. 

“I’d always hoped we’d reconcile,” Dimitri says. 

Nikita watches as her men surround them, as Michael takes out Dimitri’s guards with silent shots. 

“Keep hoping,” Victor spits, whirling to face her as Dimitri is knocked out. “Now let him go,” Victor says. 

Nikita makes another signal. Watches as Victor’s face crumples as she delivers a final, crushing blow. The car Yuri is in bursts into flames, an explosion that sets off a chain of explosions. People in the streets scream, sirens wail in the distance. Dimitri is ushered into a Section van. 

“He knew too much,” Nikita says, brushing past Victor. “Watch your back Nikiforov. Don’t ask too many questions or you’ll face the same fate.” 

He stares at her, stunned, in shock, says nothing as they leave him behind. She watches as someone drags him away from the smoke, the fire, the destruction.


	2. Part Two

Part Two

Victor stills in the final pose of his free program. He feels nothing, not exhaustion, not exhilaration, not sadness or anger. Numbness suffuses his body as he glances at his coach. 

Yakov peers at him. “Acceptable,” he grunts. 

Victor skates, works his cool down. He hears his rink mates whisper. Hears them speculating about his dedication. He has nothing, Victor thinks, is nothing without the ice. The feeling may be slightly less familiar, but it isn’t new. 

Of course, it’s Yuri who tries to make waves. Angry, lost little Yuri. He stomps to Victor and kicks him in the chest. 

“Asshole,” Yuri spits. Victor glances at Yuri as though he were a minor hindrance. He is. He isn’t. No one is anything to him, really. 

“You’re not the only who misses him, you know,” Yuri spits the words out, kicks him in the head this time. It’s an improbable feat and Victor is momentarily, almost impressed. 

“He’s not dead,” Victor hears himself say. He hasn’t told anyone else. But he knows in his heart that Yuri is alive. He’d know if his soul mate was dead. 

“They found his body,” Yuri spits. “They buried it in fucking Japan. You were there.” 

Victor remembers the ash and bone that have been identified as one Katsuki, Yuri. He remembers the police report. The funeral where Mari had sat in a wheelchair, dry-eyed. Where Hiroko had wailed and clutched Toshiya. Where Yuri’s family had not blamed him for their son’s loss- where they had embraced him, grieved with him. Grieved around him, he thinks. 

“He’s not dead,” Victor says again. He can’t exist in world where Yuri is dead. So, he doesn’t. 

***

“It’s been a year,” little Yuri says. Victor notes absently that he’s not so little any longer. He’s filled out- started to grow into a man’s form.

“Vitya,” Yuri says. “It’s been a year. Don’t you think you should end this?” 

The words are so like his Yuri’s- though in Russian, not English. Victor starts. “He’s not dead, Yura,” Victor says. “I stand behind that.” 

“At least let me go with you,” Yuri says. He’s calmer now. Victor wonders when he’d let go of his anger. Wonders when he’d started having stubble on his chin. 

“Okay,” Victor agrees. He allows Yuri to follow him to his appointment with the Private Investigator he hired a year ago. The man is attractive, sympathetic and never has any news. Victor refuses to give up hope, even if he can’t feel the emotion. 

***

“I want you to stop taking his money,” Yuri hisses. Victor can hear them from the doorway, walks back in. 

“I wouldn’t have brought you here,” Victor tells Yuri, “had I known this was your plan.” 

Little Yuri starts, whirls towards him. He sees a fraction of his old fire. “You’re wasting time and money with this fake, old man.” 

Silence passes between them. 

“You have to let him go,” Yuri says. 

“He’s not gone,” Victor answers. He hands his credit card to the PI. 

“Vitya, please,” Yuri says. “Let me help you.” 

Victor glances at him. “I tried.” 

***

Victor blinks, is not surprised to wake up bound to a chair. He’s startled to learn his PI is the agent who brought him to the place. “Ah,” he says, when the man explains the situation. He’s been brought as leverage against his father. 

“Unfortunate,” he says. “That will be ineffective.” 

His father stares, unmoved as Victor is beaten. He feels the pain when an agent shatters his right ankle. It radiates up his leg and somewhere, distantly, he understands how permanent this will be. How he will never skate again. He relishes being able to feel even as he screams himself hoarse from the pain of it. 

His father doesn’t care. He tries to feel the pain of that, but can only feel the gaping hole where his Yuri should be. That pain seeps into him, spreads into his limbs and muscles. His heart beats to the rhythm of that unbearable feeling. 

Then his father is taken away and he is left alone to feel. He’s drowning when someone else appears to drag him, limping, to where is father is chained to a chair. The room is sterile, all whites and metal-grays. And there, kneeling, eyes wide and breath heaving, is his Yuri. He looks older- maybe five years, not two years. There is something in his eyes Victor doesn’t recognize. 

Tears stream down his face as Yuri picks up a gun and puts a bullet into Dimitri Nikiforov’s head.


	3. Part 3

Part Three

“You said you’d let me go,” Yuri says. “You’ve got what you wanted.” He struggles against the ropes. 

“I don’t remember saying that, Yuri.” Nikita feels Michael place a hand on her shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” 

“You’re sorry?” Yuri says incredulous. “Please,” he whimpers. “Just let me go.” 

“Madeleine thinks you’re a natural,” Michael says. “It would be best if you proved her correct. Nikita, go.” 

Nikita does as Michael says, leaves Yuri with one backwards glance. She watches the young man’s face fall from the two-way mirror as Michael explains the situation. She watches as Michael undoes his bonds and Yuri stumbles, takes a swing that Michael easily dodges. 

She remembers the sinking feeling in her stomach as she’d been informed the outside world thought she was dead. She watches those same emotions play out on Yuri’s face, watches his body slump as Michael dispassionately explains the situation, explains that he will learn, that he will obey or die. 

“You begin 0600 tomorrow,” Michael says, leaving Yuri alone with his thoughts. 

Nikita grabs his arms as he leaves. “He doesn’t deserve this,” she says. 

Michael stares at her for one impenetrable moment. “No one does,” he answers and walks away. 

***

“Yuri,” the older white, brunette woman says. She gestures to a table with two chairs. 

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that,” he mutters in Japanese. 

“You’ll come to understand that what you want doesn’t matter, here,” the woman answers in the same language. “Be a gentleman and get my chair.” The language sounds wrong spilling from her lips. He slides out her chair before taking the other. 

“You may call me Madeleine,” she says, in English again. 

Yuri folds his hands in lap and stares at her, silently. Too much has happened, is happening. He’s seconds, at any given time, from having a breakdown. Michael had woken him, provided him with a white t-shirt, black sweatpants, a pair of black socks, black tennis shoes and a pair of white briefs. He’d instructed Yuri to dress and taken him to a gym. Yuri had been instructed to work out- and he had immediately tried to outrun his anxiety on the treadmill.

He is still covered with a sheen of sweat, as he sits at this table, stares at this woman. He doesn’t want to be here, can only assume she knows this. He’s learned enough to know that most of the people here are not here by choice. A desperate ache to go home swells within him, even if he wonders exactly where that is now. 

“How much do you know about Section One?” Madeline asks. 

A thousand replies flit through his head. Nothing, really, is the most honest. You’re a bunch of evil bastards, is the one he most wants to spit out in a venomous tone. Or perhaps he’d like to comment that they seem to specialize in destroying lives. He thinks of Victor’s face as the van drove away, as Victor thought Yuri had died in that explosion. (“Perhaps Victor is more appropriate” rings though his head for a moment. But he’d seen Victor’s face- felt Victor’s pain as he thought Yuri was gone.)

“What should I know?” Yuri asks instead.

Madeleine’s eyes sparkle. “I knew you were a natural,” she says. 

A compliment has never felt so filthy. 

***

“How are you settling in?” Madeleine asks. She sips the tea they’ve been served. 

Yuri’s cup sits untouched. The smell alone reminds him of home, both in Japan and Russia. He yearns to take a sip from the dainty, floral mug. He sits quietly, with his hands in his lap. They’ve been playing this game for weeks now- Madeleine will ask Yuri questions, serve food, tea, one memorable occasion there had been a decadent looking chocolate pie. 

Yuri sits silently until Madeleine dismisses him. It’s not as simple to ignore his other training. He must defend himself when sparring, for instance, or he ends up hurt. He’s used to physical activity- used to keeping himself in shape, so he finds himself using his gym time productively. He’s been working on fluency in Russian so long that it’s difficult not to excel in his language lessons. 

The silence falls around them, as it always does. Yuri revels in it. He thinks he can feel something like irritation in Madeleine’s impassive gaze. She finishes her tea with just slightly narrowed eyes. 

“I’ll see you next week,” she says, pleasantly and he bows shallowly (as he always does) in her direction before leaving this room. 

***  
The next day, Michael appears in his room before breakfast. 

“Your training has changed,” he says, “come with me.” 

Yuri follows- his day is similar to the routine from before. Except he’s no longer allowed breaks for meals. He has extra time in the gym for training, extra sparring practice, extra practice in language, extra practice in learning the technology he’ll be using. His stomach growls in the middle of his Russian lesson and his teacher looks at him annoyed, before moving on. 

This routine continues, Yuri feels lethargic and weak by the end of the second day. He collapses into his bed when he’s led back to his room, dreams of plates filled with broccoli and rice. I’ll never complain about eating a vegetable plate again, he thinks desperately as he passes out. 

At the end of the third day, Yuri believes he’s going to die. He can barely walk, let alone participate in the activities he’s expected to do. He’d taken a beating during sparring, he’d almost passed out during Russian. He lays on his bed, tears in his eyes, hands on his aching stomach. 

Michael drags him to Madeleine’s table on the beginning of the fourth day. There is a plate with a piece of dry toast and a cup of steaming hot tea at his place. Michael holds his hands behind the chair as Madeleine takes her place. 

“How are you settling in, Yuri?” she asks, nibbling at her own, more substantial breakfast- some eggs, some meat, what smells like coffee. 

Yuri’s pride crumbles before a piece of dry toast. “Things here aren’t pleasant,” he answers. Madeline nods and Michael releases his arms. Yuri takes the toast in his hands, prepares to stuff it into his mouth. 

“Carefully,” Madeleine cautions. She takes a sip of her coffee as Yuri slows, the toast halfway to his mouth. “Take it slowly, or you’ll make yourself sick.” 

Yuri takes a small bite, still feels sick as he eats the meal he’s been provided. 

“Don’t be too disappointed,” Madeleine says. “We’ve both learned something from this lesson. Your stubbornness does have limits. I had wondered,” she leans over slightly, pushes some of her meat towards him, “if you might let yourself die to prove a point.” 

Yuri takes a bite of the sausage, chewing and swallowing slowly. He takes a sip of the tea. He eats the food she provides until it’s gone. 

“Shall we wait another week?” Madeline says. 

Yuri stands and bows. “Thank you for the meal,” he says. “I’d prefer not to wait so long for the next the one.” It hurts to say the words, to keep them sounding amiable. Madeleine smiles at him, it doesn’t reach her eyes. 

“I always enjoy pleasant company at my meals,” Madeleine says as he exits. Yuri worries he’ll expel the first food he’s had in four days as he stumbles into the hallway. 

***

“Sometimes it’s hard to remember you’re not an expert,” Madeline says. His meals are exclusively at her table now- three a day. Though, food is still sometimes withheld if he doesn’t perform to her satisfaction. Today he’d been instructed to choose a suit, as though he were having a date. 

“And then you choose,” she waves a disdainful hand, “that to wear.” 

He glances at down, it’s just a suit. They’re all the same, aren’t they? 

“Tell me Yuri, how do you choose your words?” 

“Carefully,” he answers honestly, warily. 

“The same should be true of your wardrobe. Even for men,” Madeleine says, “clothing can be a significant weapon.” 

Yuri clamps down on thoughts of Victor. He will not, cannot, think of Victor here, even if his coach had said similar things about clothes and his professional image. 

He inclines his head towards Madeline. “I appreciate your instruction,” he says. 

***

“Tell me Yuri,” Madeline says one evening, “do you know what you’re being trained for?” 

Yuri’s stomach twists as eats the rice and broccoli he’s been given. He takes a sip of water, eyes Madeleine’s wine jealously. “Yes,” he answers. 

“Do tell,” Madeline says, making a little gesture with her hand. 

“I’m being trained as a spy,” Yuri answers. 

“Mmm. That’s not entirely it, is it?” Candles flicker between them, making Madeleine seem even more sinister as the flame lights her face in bits and pieces. 

“No,” Yuri admits. He places his fork on the side of his plate, indicating he’s finished his meal. The woman who serves them whisks his plate away and replaces it with plate of fruit, his dessert. 

“Do you think it will be easier if you don’t name it?” Madeline asks. There’s genuine seeming curiosity in her voice. Nothing here is ever exactly what it seems, Yuri thinks.

Yuri goes for blatant honesty. “I don’t know.” 

Madeline laughs. “You’re so refreshing,” she says. She leans forward, brushes her hand along his face. “You seduce so easily, and I think you’re not even trying.” 

Yuri stills. She reaches for a peach from his dessert place and holds it to his lips. 

“Thank you,” he says, “but I’m not hungry.” 

“Mmm,” Madeline says. “I’m not hungry either. Not for food.” 

***

Yuri’s heart pounds. Usually he’s escorted back to his room after dinner. This time, Madeleine leads him to a sofa in her rooms. She caresses his face again and places a chaste kiss on his lips. 

“Please,” he whispers and he’s not sure what he’s begging for. He doesn’t want this- but her touches are pleasant and her praise fills something inside of him he hadn’t realized was empty. 

“Beautiful,” she says. She removes his glasses, smooths back his hair and straddles his lap. She kisses him again, this time something more insistent, more laced with fire. Shame radiating within him, Yuri kisses back. He’s missed kisses, missed… he doesn’t let himself finish the thought. He will not taint those memories with this moment. 

“Tell me Yuri,” Madeline says, pulling away from him, gazing into his eyes, “do you know how to pleasure a woman?” 

“I look forward to your instruction,” Yuri lies. 

***

Yuri holds the gun limply. The man before him is Dimitri Nikiforov. He looks like Victor, Yuri thinks, though older, tired, worn beyond measure. This, Yuri wants to think, is the man that ruined his life. It would be, should be easy to blame this man for everything he’s been through. 

It’s not true though, the blame lies squarely with the sadistic people who run the Section. The people who have been training him for the last two years to fuck and kill on their command. He isn’t sure they haven’t succeeded until Madeleine gives the order and the gun falls from his limp hand. It clatters to the ground beside him and Yuri is relieved that it means his death. 

He should have known, he thinks, as Madeline nods at one of the brutish guards that it is never that easy here. The next man to be brought out is Victor. Yuri’s heart stops at the sight of him, he’s limping, favoring his left foot. He’s bloody and bruised and his eyes widen when he sees Yuri. Something like a smile ghosts across his face. 

“So, Yuri,” Madeline says. “The choice is simple. You kill Dimitri. Or I kill both father and son.” 

Yuri sinks to his knees, lifts the gun, points at Dimitri Nikiforov. He considers pointing it towards himself, imagines the agony on Victor’s face as he pulls the trigger. He hasn’t seen Victor in two years. He’s thought about him every day despite every effort not to. Tears stream down Yuri’s face as he pulls the trigger.


	4. Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So just a quick head's up- the previous chapters are sunshine and rainbows compared to this one. So if you aren't wanting some serious darkfic goodness, well I mean, this isn't the fic for you in general, but also this chapter is bad. Think of every warning. It applies. Take care of yourselves.

Part 4

Yuri stares at the mission profile outlined on his tablet. Any time he thinks he understands the extent of the Section’s cruelty, he encounters something to push those boundaries. 

“May I request another agent as my partner in this,” Yuri says. 

“You may request that,” Madeleine answers. She gives him the not-smile he’s used to. “However, this agent fits this profile perfectly. And you have to admit that the two of you have a certain chemistry.” 

Yuri swallows, nods. He can still feel the blood on his skin from the last mission. This is not the worst thing he’s been asked to do, he thinks. He repeats that to himself, wanting to believe it. 

***

“Vitya,” Operations says, nodding as Victor takes his place at the table. His heart beats faster as he sees Yuri- he knew Yuri would be a part of this mission, he had read the profile after all. 

“Vitya will pose as Yuri’s slave,” Madeline says outlining the profile. Victor stares at Yuri, unable to feel anything except excitement. He’s been training in this place for two more awful years, years where he barely saw his Yuri. He’d taken comfort that Yuri was alive, been relieved every time he’d seen him return from a successful mission. 

“Vitya, pay attention,” Madeleine says. She holds a picture in front of him. “This is your target. You must convince him to escape with you.” The picture is a beautiful young man, maybe 17-18 years old. He has blue-green eyes and long blonde hair. Victor understands why he’s been chosen for this profile. 

“You will have one week to get to get used to each other as master and slave,” Madeline says. “The dynamic between you must be airtight.” 

Victor’s heart soars. He’ll have a week alone with his Yuri. 

***

Victor is escorted to Yuri’s rooms. He’s one of the agents that lives at Section. Victor had been surprised to learn that many agents have half-lives outside of the Section, are summoned when they are needed. Yuri’s rooms are a small apartment in one of the residential sub-basements. They are sparsely decorated with minimal furniture. 

“Yuri,” Victor breathes, crushes Yuri into a hug. He smells the same. Yuri pushes him away. Victor stares at him. 

“Strip,” Yuri says. There is no heat in his voice, no desire. The order is mechanical. Victor has been trained to follow orders, is primed to follow Yuri’s, specifically. He removes his clothing. 

“Yuri?” he asks, as his once lover gazes at him with no passion. 

“We have one week,” Yuri says. “To craft this performance. Think of this as ice skating without any ice.” Yuri pauses. “And this time I’m the coach.” Yuri gathers Victor’s clothes and places them in a hamper. “And this time,” he says, returning and tracing a finger along Victor’s face. “Ignoring your coach gets you killed.” 

Victor shivers at Yuri’s touch, leans into it. Desperately wants more. 

“Kneel,” Yuri says. Victor falls to his knees, feels hurt at Yuri’s disappointed grunt. 

“Stand,” he says. 

Victor stands. 

“Kneel,” Yuri says, “slowly, gracefully.” 

Victor does as he’s told. 

“Very good,” Yuri says, dropping to his knees besides him. He tips Victor’s face for a kiss. “I’m sorry,” he says. “But I can’t survive without you.” 

***

Victor has little trouble following Yuri’s orders. There is more and less between them than before, but he instinctively trusts this man with his life, his love. Yuri orders him to stroke himself hard, Victor complies. He orders him to stop, Victor complies. He orders him to crawl, Victor complies. 

He orders Victor to piss into a glass. Victor grimaces, but follows the order. He preens when Yuri says, “good boy.” He balks when Yuri adds, “now drink it.” 

The amber liquid smells foul. He looks up to see Yuri staring at him, face blank. Up until now- he hadn’t minded what he’d been asked to do. In fact, he’d imagined doing some of it, once up on a time. With a safe word, he thinks bitterly, that he would use right this moment, hand trembling around the warm glass. 

And even so, Victor thinks, gazing at Yuri. If he thought Yuri would be aroused, would enjoy watching him drinking his own piss, he might do it. But the look that flashed on Yuri’s face gave him away. Yuri is as disgusted by this as he is. 

“That’s one,” Yuri says and Victor stares at him, confused. 

“In case it’s unclear,” Yuri says, “you do not hesitate when I give you an order. You follow it. Immediately. Two.” 

Victor tips the glass, spills the liquid onto the carpet of Yuri’s room. “No.” 

Yuri nods. “You’ll regret that, Vitenka.” 

Victor freezes at Yuri’s tone. At the name he’s chosen to use for this mission. He regrets it already, he thinks. His stomach flips as Yuri hands him a bottle of cleaner and paper towels. 

“Clean your mess, whore,” Yuri says. 

Stunned, Victor takes the items and does as he’s told. Is it habit, he wonders? Is it Yuri’s face? Is it the way he dismisses Victor’s feelings? His stomach is tight with fear and arousal as he completes his task. 

Yuri watches, takes the supplies when the carpet is cleaned to his satisfaction. “Come, we’re going to bed.”

Victor follows Yuri to his room. There is a small western-style bed in the room and a wardrobe. There are chains installed on the floor, which Yuri attaches to Victor’s wrists. 

“Bad slaves sleep on the floor,” Yuri says, leaving Victor alone as he gets ready for bed. The words hurt more than Victor would expect. 

***

“Wake up slave,” Victor blinks, opens his eyes to his Yuri’s harsh words. He’s led to the bathroom, arms chained behind him. 

“Piss,” Yuri instructs and Victor’s stomach twists, remembering yesterday. He’s grateful he’s urinating into the toilet. Yuri brushes his teeth, washes his bare body with a towel. He shaves his face and glances once at Victor’s pubic hair before putting the razor away. 

Yuri leaves Victor’s hands bound, places a black leather collar around his neck attached to a matching leash. Victor’s stomach growls. 

“I’d offer you food and water,” Yuri says, “but I’m afraid you’ll just spill them onto the carpet.” He tugs on Victor’s leash, leads him of out Yuri’s apartments, into the halls of Section One. Victor stumbles behind him, flushed with shame. 

***

Yuri leads Victor to a room outfitted with a cross. He binds him to it, exposes his back. Victor gives him a pleading look, but remains silent as instructed. 

“You’re being very good,” Yuri says, stroking Victor’s hair and the look of trust in his eyes fills Yuri with dread. He doesn’t want to do this. He doesn’t want to do any of this. 

“Three,” Yuri says, wielding the whip. He strikes Victor’s bare back three times, watches the man cry out and shudder in pain. He ignores the look of betrayal as he adds several more stripes to Victor’s back. He needs Victor to appear well-used. And he needs him to be just off-kilter enough to obey his orders without question. Yuri has learned Victor behaves best when he isn’t given time to think. 

“These,” Yuri says, “are because I want to.” 

He helps Victor down from the cross, does nothing to comfort him or attend to his wounds. He needs him to develop at least a few scars. Victor tries to walk. Yuri pushes him to the ground. 

“You will crawl,” Yuri says, “unless I’ve given you permission to walk.” 

***

Yuri learned long ago that no one in Section One cares if he panics, so long as he completes his tasks satisfactorily. He’s chained Victor in his living room and sits on his bed breathing heavily, hugging his arms to his chest. Tears prick at his eyes, remembering the look on Victor’s face as they’d crawled back though the hallways of Section One, Victor especially, subject to the stares and whispers of other operatives. 

He sees vision of the blood that stains his skin, his soul. He’s killed for the Section. The first time, he’d gone off in a daze after. It’s hard, Yuri thinks, to swallow Victor’s trust after he’d watched Yuri coldly kill his father. It’s even harder to betray that trust- to hurt and humiliate him at Section’s command. It would be worse, Yuri tells himself, controlling his breathing, watching his hands waver and coalesce in his blurring vision to have Victor’s blood on his hands because he wasn’t properly prepared. 

As with everything here, he doesn’t want to do this. His life and Victor’s are forfeit in one way or another if he doesn’t. He wonders if it’s worth it. He thinks of the one sweet kiss he had shared with Victor before struggling into the correct persona. He still wonders. 

***

Victor kneels where he has been chained, back throbbing. It hurts, he can feel each stripe. But he’s been through Section training, he had much worse during his course about torture techniques. A throb from his right ankle reminds him he’s had worse at the hands of Section One. Yuri’s stripes, except the first three, Victor thinks, remembering the initial pain, had been designed to mark him, not to hurt. Knowing that can’t quite dull the pain of “these are because I want to” said so coldly. It can’t quite dull the pain of being left here alone, no orders, nothing to do but feel. 

Yuri returns with a bowl and Victor licks his dry lips. The bowl is placed on the floor in front of him. 

“You have my permission to drink,” Yuri says. 

Victor reaches for the bowl. 

“No. Like the dog you are.” 

Victor’s face burns. He crawls forward, very thirsty. He’s inexplicably aroused. Is it the humiliation, he wonders? Does he crave that? Is it Yuri? His thoughts are a jumbled mess as he lowers his face into the bowl, laps the warm, salty liquid. Tears prick at his eyes as he follows Yuri’s command. The bowl is filled with urine. 

***

“Good boy,” Yuri says as he finishes. Victor looks up, the praise flowing through his body. He flushes with pride, arousal, more humiliation. He isn’t certain. It feels nice when Yuri hugs him, pets his hair. Yuri places a glass of water to Victor’s lips, tips it slowly. Victor drinks. The taste of urine lingers. 

Yuri feeds him spoonfuls of lukewarm soup, one at a time. Victor eats, still on his knees. The soup fills his stomach, Yuri’s care fills something else. Yuri holds him as he feeds him, Victor leans into the hold, feels Yuri around his entire body. Too much, too much, screams something inside of him. 

Yuri pulls away. “Follow me,” Yuri says. Victor crawls after him, not having been given permission to walk. They go the bedroom and Yuri chains Victor to the floor again. Victor watches, pained, as Yuri gets ready for bed. 

“But I’ve been good,” Victor thinks as he watches Yuri crawl into bed alone, leaving him to sleep, chained to the floor again. 

***

Victor is in pain the next morning, his back throbs as Yuri bathes him, brushes his teeth, shaves his face again. He applies something to Victor’s back and it feels slightly more bearable as the routine continues. 

“Open your mouth,” Yuri says. 

Victor opens his mouth. His stomach twists as Yuri’s dick is placed at his lips. He wants to do this, he thinks, confused by his body’s reaction. He wants to suck Yuri’s dick- except Yuri hadn’t ordered him to do that. He chokes as Yuri pisses, a slow steady stream that he tries to swallow after he realizes what is happening. His cheeks flush with shame. 

A few drops drip down his chin, splash onto the tiled bathroom floor. Yuri steps back. 

“Clean up your mess,” he says, putting himself back in his pants. This time he doesn’t hand Victor any cleaning supplies. 

Victor tips forward, licks the drops from the floor. 

***

He’s chained in the living room again. Alone with his own thoughts. Yuri had given him water, bites of oatmeal, enough to ease his hunger but not to make him feel full. He’d been given another glass of water and then another. The water has settled in him uncomfortably and he needs the bathroom. Yuri has disappeared again, left him here alone with his thoughts. 

He looks up when Yuri returns, gazes at him hopefully. 

“Oh,” Yuri says. “You’re still here,” as though Victor is a minor inconvenience. Too much, too much, his minds screams. Yuri’s cold treatment is unceasing, this is nothing like he might have imagined, nothing he’d fantasized about lasted this long, felt this real, this permanent. 

He squirms. “Yuri,” he says, breaking his orders not to speak. “May I use the bathroom?” 

“Master, may I use the bathroom,” Yuri says. 

The correction is minor, important somehow, Victor thinks. It’s not a hardship, though. It’s not anything Victor wouldn’t have done willingly had Yuri asked. Except he’s not willing, is he? Isn’t that the point? Victor’s mind whirls in circles, even as he says the words. 

“No.” Yuri says, kneeling at the low table in his living room, shifting through a pile of papers he’d brought with him. 

Realization floods through Victor. Yuri is going to make him do this, soil himself on the carpet, because he has no choice. Shame courses through him and his body reacts to it- he’s half hard with the thought. “Please, Master,” Victor begs. He doesn’t think he can handle this. 

Yuri sighs. “Haven’t I told you to keep quiet? Perhaps this will shut you up.” Yuri unzips his pants, presses his dick to Victor’s mouth. 

“Well,” he continues. “You seemed eager to suck it this morning.” 

Victor closes his eyes, takes Yuri’s dick in his mouth. He sucks it, tries to pretend this is something he’s wanted, asked for. The intense pressure in his bladder makes it difficult to pretend. In his mouth, Yuri remains limp. Victor tries, sucks Yuri until the other man pulls out, still only half-hard. Victor’s own cock is throbbing. His abdomen aches. Yuri presses a hand to where it’s visibly distended, applies pressure. A few drops leak from Victor’s dick. 

Victor doesn’t say anything. He hasn’t been given permission to speak. Yuri gazes at him, unchains his hands and leads him to the bathroom. 

“You may empty your bladder,” he says, pointing Victor’s dick at the floor. The urine spurts out in little bursts, stings as it falls onto the bathroom floor. 

Victor stares at the mess flushed with shame. 

“I don’t have to order you to do every little thing, do I?” Yuri says, gesturing at the mess. 

Victor kneels to lick his mess from the floor. 

“Return to your spot when you’re finished,” Yuri says, leaving him to complete his task. As though it doesn’t matter, as though he doesn’t matter. Something, some hope inside Victor that he’d escape his first real mission unscathed shatters and he follows Yuri’s orders. He returns and kneels while Yuri continues his work. This time he remains unchained. 

***

Madeleine gazes at Vitya, appraising Yuri’s work. Vitya is kneeling behind him, hands behind his back. He is flushed with arousal and a hint of shame, there is a soft pink glow over his features. He’s littered with bruises, bite marks, stripes on his back. He certainly looks the part. 

“You didn’t shave his pubic hair?” Madeleine asks, noting the increased flush on Vitya’s skin with interest. His paleness hides nothing. 

“The silver is more exotic than having him bare,” Yuri answers. He’s standing with his arms to his sides, meets her gaze. 

“Mmm. He certainly looks the part,” Madeline says. “Prove his obedience.” 

“Vitenka,” Yuri says. “Eat her out.” 

Vitya doesn’t hesitate. He crawls to Madeleine, lifts her skirt and glances at her shyly. 

Madeline raises an eyebrow, but pushes her underwear down. She pets his hair, it’s soft, silky. He’s not her usual type, but he’s pretty enough and she’s certain he’s never thought about having sex with a woman in his life. He clumsily follows Yuri’s order, lapping at her sex with his tongue. 

“Enough,” she says, pushing him away and he looks at Yuri who nods at him before he stops and crawls back to his side.

Madeline looks at Yuri, remembers that despite his reserve, he has always had keen instincts about how to play the game. She pulls her panties up and wipes her hands on her skirt. “What are you going to have him wear to the club?” she asks. 

“Why would I ever hide his natural beauty?” Yuri asks, absently petting Vitya’s hair. Vitya leans into the touch, seemingly unaware of the conversation about him. 

Madeline lets a small smile reach her lips. “Good work,” she says, reluctantly impressed.


	5. Part 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind F*ck is real y'all. If you made it past the last bit, well, imagine that a large part of writing this for me, was "can I make it worse?" Well? Did I?

Part 5

Victor understands what his master needs. He’s always been good at being what someone else needs. He feels something in his chest, something tight and uncomfortable at doing as he’s been told. It’s almost enough to dull his fear about not doing as he’s been told. 

“Yuri?” Victor says, and his voice doesn’t shake. It comes out soft, timid, but he doesn’t tremble as he stands. 

Yuri leans into him, steps onto his toes and Victor meets him for a kiss. It’s soft and sweet, comfortable. It feels like a home that doesn’t exist, Victor wonders if had ever existed. Why had his master been so cruel over the last week, he wonders, when he could have been peppering Victor with soft, sweet kisses? 

“Your coaching style is very intense, Coach-Yuri,” Victor says as they’ve pulled apart, each breathing heavily. 

Yuri peers into his eyes. “I’ve missed you,” he says. 

“Have you?” Victor asks. “I thought you were dead.” 

His master flinches and Victor wants to swallow the words, take them back inside of himself. Dread fills his stomach- but his master doesn’t order him to his knees, doesn’t chain him- 

“I’m sorry,” he chokes instead, a sob rising in his throat. 

Victor doesn’t know what to say, silence surrounds them. “None of this is your fault,” he says, suddenly sure he’s saying the words his master needs to hear. 

***

“None of this is your fault,” Victor says. Yuri is not surprised that four years of relief doesn’t rush through him. He’s thought that before. But at some point, he’d begun to make his own decisions. He’d started to play the dangerous game he’s been dragged into. He thinks of the way he used Victor earlier to score a petty, pointless point against Madeleine. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again. 

Victor regards him. “Didn’t you say tonight you wanted it to just be us?” 

Yuri meets his eyes, nods. Victor kisses him again, this time urgently. Yuri responds, hands running down Victor’s bruised skin. It’s familiar and new, he’s hungry to have Victor, wants Victor inside of him.

Victor stands, takes his hand and leads him to the bed. The bed Yuri had denied him for the last week. They fall into it together. He moans as Victor prepares him, lube easily accessible and Yuri dismisses the memories of how he’d used it early in the week. He doesn’t want to see himself coldly slicking items and impersonally stretching Victor’s ass with dildos, hairbrushes, fingers, wooden spoons, whatever he could find that might fit as Victor simply stayed still and endured it. 

He wants to feel the personal touch of Victor’s fingers, curling inside him. For one night, he wants to believe they are home together in a world that makes sense, making sweet love, having passionate sex after success on the ice. Victor enters him with his cock and Yuri relaxes into it, takes the pleasure where he can find it. He’ll be performing for Section’s pleasure soon enough. This one night, he hopes, will be enough. 

***

Something pleased settles in the bottom of Victor’s stomach. He’s being allowed in his Master’s bed. He’s finally been good. He traces a hand along Yuri’s face, wishes he could wipe away the sadness, melt away the tension, make his master pleased and happy. 

“Victor,” Yuri says, his voice is hoarse. His eyes are brown and wide and out of focus without his glasses on. “I need you to understand.” 

Victor realizes that his master has been speaking for several minutes and that he hasn’t been listening. But he’s Victor right now, so Yuri won’t be angry. “I wasn’t listening,” he says, surprised how confident, how nonchalant he sounds when he’s actually terrified. 

“You can’t trust anyone in Section One,” Yuri says. 

“Even you?” Victor asks. 

Yuri closes his eyes. “Especially me,” he admits and the world fades, fuzzy and Victor feels fear fill his belly.


	6. Part 6

This isn’t right, Victor thinks. The world blends in and out of his vision. What he can see is fuzzy, he’s naked except for the collar and leash, voices are buzzing above him. He’s kneeling- he’s hearing words about sale. This isn’t right, Victor thinks, he’s supposed to go the club, his master will sell him from there. He tries to blink the fuzz from his eyes, makes the images worse, blurrier. The room spins. 

A pair of lips presses to his ear. “Wait for my signal,” it says. The room keeps spinning as his leash is tugged. 

“Oh, I wasn’t that attached to that one. He’s easily replaced.” Victor hears those words loudly, clearly, in Yuri’s voice as he’s dragged away long before he can get his bearings, long before he has any chance to ask, “what signal?” 

***

“You’re beautiful,” the man says, running a hand through Victor’s hair. It falls to his shoulders now. His other master had tugged and yanked it- had never been kind like this. The touch is soothing, Victor leans into it. 

He recognizes the man, he isn’t sure how or why quite yet as the features blur together. The man has tears on his face. “You look so much like him,” he says. 

“Come closer.” Instinct propels Victor to obey. The man wraps him in a loose hug, kisses him softly. The kiss feels like little sparks on his lips, sends signals straight to his cock, he’s hard and aching for this new master so quickly. 

“So responsive,” the man says. The world continues to blur, to fade in and out. Victor responds to orders, cries out with pleasure, feels his own tears on his face at one point until finally he’s spent, and his new master holds him, stroking his hair and whispering in a language Victor doesn’t quite understand. 

***

Victor wakes with his mouth dry and his skin on fire. His muscles burn and ache. It’s not the most uncomfortable he’s been this week, he thinks, testing his arms to see if he’s been bound. They brush against silk sheets, not Section approved metal-gray linoleum. His eyes shoot open. He’s grateful for the dim light, trying to get a picture of where he is. 

Memories filter in and out, they’re fuzzy. He takes stock of where he is- realizes that somehow the mission has started, and he’s missed the beginning of it. Trying to concentrate causes spots to dance against his eyes and his head to throb so he settles for trying to struggle to his knees. 

The man beside him stirs, opens beady brown eyes and smiles softly at him. “Shh, sweetheart,” he says. “Shh, lay back down, we can sleep a little longer.” 

Victor’s mind reels but he lays back down, the man holds him loosely. Victor’s heart beats rapidly though the touch is gentle. He closes his eyes and falls into a light doze, despite his confusion. 

***

Victor wakes later, need urgent in his bladder. The man is staring at him, stroking his arm gently. 

Victor bites his lip, “Please, master, may I use the bathroom?” he asks, terrified of the answer. 

The man’s eyes widen. “I shouldn’t be surprised, that your old master was that controlling. But you’re a sweet little thing, aren’t you pet? You don’t need my permission.” 

Victor lowers his gaze. “I don’t know where it is, master,” he says. 

“Oh! Oh, pet. I’ll take such good care of you, come now.” The man leads him to the bathroom. 

He tells Victor to use the facilities, including the bath and shower as he needs and that he will return with some breakfast. 

“You’ll have to stay in these rooms for now, pet,” the man says. “But I’ll bring you anything you ask, just say the word.” 

Victor stares at him silently, nods slowly. “Thank-you, master,” he stutters. He lets the relief and gratitude swell through him and show on his face. 

“Oh pet,” the man says, “I’ll take such good care of you.” The man hugs him and pets his hair, leaves a kiss on his head before leaving. 

***  
Victor is kneeling beside the bed, clean, still naked, hair damp. His stomach is clenched tight as he thinks through what had happened. He realizes at some point, he’d been drugged. Realizing that the person who drugged him was Yuri is a hurt he doesn’t have time to examine. He’s recognized the man- Vladmir Balstok as the master of the boy he was sent in to rescue. 

He’s remembered enough from last night to realize the boy; his original target is dead. “Wait for my signal” rings in his ears. They had not discussed a second signal, Victor thinks, stomach muscles twitching. He has no idea what he’s supposed to do. 

Vladmir returns, dressed in a white button-down shirt and suit pants. His hairy feet are pale and bare. His beard scratches when he places a gentle kiss on Victor’s lips, tickles his skin. This time the kiss just feels wet. Victor leans into it, kisses back shyly, gazes at the floor. 

“Oh, sweet pet, you were wasted on Mr. Tanaka, yes?” 

Victor says nothing, eats the orange slices Vladmir holds to his lips. His stomach roils, perhaps more than when Yuri was preparing him for this mission. Perhaps more than when he’d woken up, still half-drugged in this man’s bed.

“I’ll have Rutha bring me some clothes for you, that’s my assistant. You’ll have to go through her if you need anything, today, sweet. But work awaits,” Vladmir sighs. 

“Perhaps tomorrow, I can shirk my duties, we can get better acquainted, yes?” Victor gazes at the floor. 

Vladmir chuckles. “I can’t say you haven’t been well-trained. We’ll have to work on that too. You have permission to use these rooms, the bathroom, the bed, any books, the television, sweet. I promise I’ll hurry back.” 

Victor gazes up at Vladmir eyes wide, mouth in small smile. 

“Oh,” Vladmir says and Victor blushes. “Oh, I’ll definitely hurry back.” 

***

Victor doesn’t realize he’s returned to kneeling on the floor out of habit until Rutha enters the room and glances at him with short, huffy sigh. He’d looked through the room, found nothing that would serve as Yuri’s signal, nothing that tells him what precisely his new mission is. 

Rutha leans down, whispers, “They say Yuri does a number on people, but I’ve never seen it with my own eyes.” 

Victor resists the urge to jump, simply remains kneeling as she shakes her head, hands him a stack of clothing. “Careful,” she cautions, “your COMM unit’s in this. Hopefully I’ll be seeing you around.” 

The woman spends some time tidying up Vladmir’s rooms, changing sheets, dusting, throwing away the remains of breakfast, emptying out the garbage. Victor rises and gets dressed in the bathroom, finds his COMM in the folds of the lose pants he’s been given to wear, slips into his ear as cautiously as he can. 

Nothing happens. Victor washes his face, returns to kneeling by the bed. He’s used to waiting this way, he tells himself. He waits. 

***

Victor doesn’t expect to hear Yuri’s voice while he’s being fucked. Though it retrospect, he’s not sure why he’s so shocked. Vladmir had wasted little time, made certain Victor had been given lunch (Rutha had brought him a tray of soup, bread and water earlier) and then gently coaxed him into bed. 

He’d prepared him thoroughly, while Victor lay on his back, hands grasping the headboard, panting and mewling. 

“So sweet,” Vladmir said, as he started thrusting. 

“Your weapon is under the pillow,” Yuri says. “You have three minutes after to get out of the house. There’s a window at the end of the hallway.” 

Victor bites back a moan, thrusts his hips to meet Vladmir’s cock, reaches his right hand under the pillow. Tears form in his eyes, Vladmir is moaning another name, probably the boy’s. 

“2:45 seconds,” Yuri reminds him. 

Victor pulls the gun out, pulls the trigger before he can think, holds his breath as Vladmir falls on top of him, has to pull the man off and out of him. He keeps the gun, darts to the door, finds it unlocked, unguarded. Heart racing, he heads for the end of the hallway, stares in horror as the window is blocked by iron metal bars. 

“Yuri,” he hisses. “There’s no window.” 

Yuri doesn’t answer. Victor whirls the other direction, sees a set of stairs. He creeps down them slowly, there are two guards at the end of them. He shoots one, then the other. He tells himself he can throw up later as the bodies fall to the ground. He pants, eyes wide as no one comes to see what’s happened, there’s a window beside the stairs. 

He stops long enough to grab the coat of one of the guards, balls up his fist and smashes the window. He crawls through, ignoring the glass cutting his body, crouches into a roll and lands outside on the grass. He hears shouts behind him, runs towards the other side of the building. He sees Yuri’s car, he hopes, running by the door. He flings himself into the car, equal parts tense and relieved as Yuri catches him and sits him upright and the car drives off. 

Victor waits until his heart is not pounding in his ears, until he can breathe a little. He wraps the guard’s coat around him, shivers. He looks at Yuri. “Why?” he asks. 

Yuri looks like he’s the one who’s just escaped with his life. “We had to how well you could improvise,” he says. 

“Is this what it’s always like?” Victor asks. 

Yuri meets his eyes, remains silent as the car continues to drive. Victor looks away first.


	7. Part 7

Madeline gazes at Yuri. He gazes back, meets her stare. “The mission was successful,” he says. 

“Yes,” Madeline answers. “Against all odds, it appears it was.” She opens the file on her desk, glances at it for a moment. “Do you think our concerns are invalid? Do you think Vitya will be able to follow orders?” 

“Yes,” Yuri answers. “He’ll be able to do the job.” 

“Mmm.” Madeleine peers at him. “Your lies are usually more believable.” 

Fear pools in Yuri’s stomach, an icy claw. 

“Nevertheless, Vitya will be kept as an operative as long as he remains useful.” 

Yuri nods, turns to walk away. 

“Yuri,” Madeleine calls after him. He turns slightly. 

“We’ve learned something from this too, haven’t we? I doubt you’d let him die to prove a point.” 

Yuri keeps his face carefully blank, walks away, knowing she can see his hands trembling. 

***  
Victor sits deliberately, gingerly, on the couch. Yuri remains standing, stares at him. 

“Yes, Vitya?” he asks, voice dull. His expression is so neutral, Victor searches for the man he knew in that face. He wonders what trials Yuri’s endured over the course of four years. 

“I forgive you,” Victor whispers. 

“It was just a mission,” Yuri answers. “There’s nothing to forgive.” 

Victor isn’t sure it hurt less when he thought Yuri was dead. Then again, maybe his Yuri is dead. Victor blinks back tears as Yuri’s face retains that carefully neutral expression. 

“You’re due in the infirmary,” Yuri says. 

Victor looks back once, Yuri stares at him a moment, face still flat before turning away. Not for the first time, Victor tries to remember what it’s like to be a person. He thinks, maybe, if he could have just have a moment with the real Yuri, with his Yuri, it might be worth it. 

***

Yuri sits on the couch, inhales Victor’s scent. He curls up, pulls himself into a ball and stares blankly at the wall. He breathes in and out slowly, watches the spot where the red light from the camera is blinking. Beyond a few silent sobs, he doesn’t cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading all that. If you enjoyed come scream with me https://scribeoffate.tumblr.com/  
Probably we like a lot of the same things. Cheers. 
> 
> (Sorry not sorry about the ending. I warned for it.)


End file.
